Waiting nervously for his life-changing interview, Andy LaBarre was startled when “this great, big bear-like man comes out of his office.” LaBarre’s voice deepens as he quotes the man’s words: “Andrew! How are you? I’m John Dingell!”
Fifteen minutes into the interview, LaBarre was even more startled when the legendary congressman boomed, “All right! You’re hired.”
Dingell’s chief of staff protested, “Wait, boss, we’ve got a few more folks to interview.” But the job–as Dingell’s assistant–went to LaBarre, an Ann Arbor native then just twenty-three years old.
His six years with Dingell set the tone for his career. Dingell, says LaBarre, “is not someone I would describe who suffers fools kindly, but he’s a genuinely decent human being and somebody who I think really embodies this notion [that] you work hard to get good outcomes.”
Ten years after that interview, LaBarre is both executive vice president at the Ann Arbor/Ypsilanti Regional Chamber and an elected Washtenaw County commissioner in his second term. “The scales are so much different from Congress,” he says of his political role. “But your job is not always to be nice and loved but always to be decent. I try to do that.”
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Dark haired and calm voiced, LaBarre, thirty-three, projects confidence without arrogance. “Andy’s very pragmatic and articulate and does a good job of explaining issues to people,” says Leigh Greden, a former city councilmember who himself has worked for both Dingells–John and his wife and successor, Debbie Dingell.
Hired to direct government relations, LaBarre is now essentially second in command to Diane Keller. In an email, Keller explains that LaBarre “helps make sure we are part of all the important discussions” in the area–a list that includes everything from economic development to mass transit to college affordability.
Most chambers of commerce are politically conservative, with business interests trumping social concerns. LaBarre says that the local chamber is the only one in the state where he would work, both because it’s “apolitical” and because its members understand that businesses need to be part of the larger community.
On his watch, the chamber stopped endorsing political candidates. But it’s continued to take policy positions, including backing the successful AAATA transportation millage and an unsuccessful effort to annex Whitmore Lake’s schools to Ann Arbor.
“The Ann Arbor Chamber is one of the most progressive I’ve ever encountered,” says county commissioner Yousef Rabhi. “A lot of it is due to [LaBarre’s] thinking.”
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On Sunday mornings, LaBarre experiences a sweet sense of deja vu as he walks his almost three-year-old son Declan to the nursery school at First United Methodist Church–where LaBarre’s parents took him as a child.
A Pioneer grad, class of 2000 (student council, lacrosse star), LaBarre went on to Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio, majoring in political science and religion. Although Ann Arborites with political ambitions rarely speak about faith, LaBarre matter-of-factly identifies himself as a Christian and says his passion for social justice is based in the Gospels; favorite books on his Facebook page include both The Autobiography of Malcolm X and the Bible.
LaBarre met his future wife, Megan Pugh, at Wittenberg; she now teaches special ed at Dexter High. After graduation, he headed for D.C., LaBarre says that working for Dingell helped teach him “the value of process, the notion of pragmatism.” He remembers an angry meeting about Obamacare where Dingell was “excoriated for four hours by hundreds of people.” LaBarre remembers the congressman’s coolness under fire as he struggles with his most contentious issue to date–a plan to build housing on the site of the former county juvenile center on Platt Rd. It’s in his district, which is essentially the eastern half of Ann Arbor (he lives in the Foxfire neighborhood off Dhu Varren Rd.). “I took a lot of heat on Platt Rd.,” he says, for supporting the project–and when the next vote on it comes up this fall, he predicts, “I’ll take more heat.”
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The county is sometimes described as the “invisible government.” Carrying out services mandated by the state–including public health, the sheriff’s office, and courts–doesn’t usually generate the attention that city council does. But many locals were shocked this spring when the county announced it would close the Washtenaw Community Health Organization, the area’s main provider of mental health and addiction services. It was deep in debt, and the county is now going to operate it directly as a county agency.
LaBarre sees more trouble ahead. “There’s a perfect storm of bad coming,” he warns. Essentially, he explains, the state has continued to issue mandates for what the counties must do–while reducing funding for services like mental health. Partly because of his wife’s job, LaBarre feels a special urgency about maintaining help for people with special needs. He and another commissioner recently met with mental health caseworkers “just to hear their day-to-day concerns. These are front-line service providers. Forgive me, they don’t make shit! They have too much demand and too little resources.”
He’d like to increase those resources. “We can’t let a desire to sock away money and to have a great bond rating number be the only force” in setting budget priorities, he says. “We’ve got to remember people in the equation.”
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LaBarre is among the talented younger Dems mentioned when political watchers discuss future candidates for the state house and senate. He says it would be “coy” to deny that he’d ever consider higher office. But his priorities have shifted. Fourteen months ago, Megan gave birth to their second child, Rowan, a month premature. Due to complications, he lived just three days. After his death, LaBarre had Rowan’s name and a cross tattooed on his arm. Now, he says, “there’s no question that being a dad is my most important job.”
In a telephone interview, John Dingell describes LaBarre as “hardworking, honest, with a great deal of loyalty. No whining or complaining.” As for the quickness with which he made his choice, Dingell, in an offhand reference to his nearly sixty years in Congress, replies, “You develop pretty good judgment over that time.”
